


A Crack in the Armor

by lyrawinter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22545517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrawinter/pseuds/lyrawinter
Summary: It was a small wedding.The ceremony took place in the Kingswood, far from the buildings, far from the royal castle, far from Cersei and Joffrey and the kingsguard. Cersei had arranged the marriage, but she'd had no interest in attending the wedding.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 46
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope you all are doing well :-) I'll be honest; I didn't plan on writing a new story until I finish Faraway and Ms Stark and Mr Baelish's Mysteries, but this little idea wouldn't leave my mind so I just had to write it. I hope you all enjoy it. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> While writing this chapter I listened to Pais Dinogad. I discovered this song a few years ago, while I was looking for traditional songs. I'm aware that the lyrics probably doesn't fit this story, since it's a lullaby (the oldest Welsh lullaby according to what I've read) but the melody has sweet and melancholic vibes, and it's beautiful. If any of you can speak Welsh, I'd love to know what the lyrics say :-)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :-)

It was a small wedding.

The ceremony took place in the Kingswood, far from the buildings, far from the royal castle, far from Cersei and Joffrey and the kingsguard. Cersei had arranged the marriage, but she'd had no interest in attending the wedding.

However, Jaime Lannister was there. He was the only person apart from Sansa, Petyr and the septon. He could only see the septon’s face, since Petyr and Sansa had their backs turned, but she could hear the metallic sounds his amor made every time he shifted his weight. Was he bored? Probably, she thought. Sansa was certain he hadn’t volunteered to act as the witness. He was there because Cersei had asked him.

He was there to confirm that they actually got married, that it wasn’t a charade, a trick used by Petyr to fool Cersei and save Sansa from Joffrey. In truth Sansa didn’t know why he’d asked for her hand in marriage. It was hard to understand his motivations; he consciously made moves to disorient. The words he’d said once came to her mind: 

_Always keep your foes confused. If they don’t know what you want, they can’t know what you plan to do next._

No, Sansa didn’t know why he’d asked for her hand in marriage, but she suspected his action hadn’t been purely selfless. Sometimes, she could see a flicker in his eyes when he talked with her; it was faint, because always tried to hide his emotions, but it was there, like the little flame of a candle before fading. His gaze betrayed him.

He wanted her. 

And Sansa thought she wanted him too.

It had took her long to admit it to herself. She’d been raised in an environment where talking about physical attraction or spending time with a man alone wasn’t considered acceptable. She was still learning how to interpret what she felt and how she reacted whenever she was around him. He’d been her protector since her father was killed and she became the only Stark member in King’s Landing. He’d always been gentle with her, and she enjoyed talking with him more than she wanted to admit.

In the afternoons, Cersei allowed them to walk along the gardens, an even though there were alway guards and servants there, they never followed Petyr and Sansa during their walks, perhaps because this was a public space and they always went back to the castle before the sun hid. The guards and servants just glanced at them from time to time, but they couldn’t hear what Petyr and Sansa said. They always spoke in a low voice.

Soon the afternoons had become her favorite part of the day, but Sansa hadn’t realized how much she cared for him until he told her about what Lysa did when he was a boy.

He’d told her one afternoon in the gardens. The had stopped under an oak; a gentle breeze shook the leaves, making a rustling sound. It seemed as if the leaves where whispering secrets. Perhaps Petyr had chosen this place in hopes the sound of the leaves muffled his words. 

Sansa’s chest had tightened and she’d felt as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. There were no words to express how terrible was what Lysa had done (she refused to call her “aunt”). Petyr had used an emotionless tone, as if the memory didn’t hurt anymore, and Sansa couldn’t tell if this was true or if he was pretending, but she’d felt the urge to hug him. Even though she hadn’t moved, he must have guessed her intention, and it had been then and only then when he hadn’t been able to keep an unreadable expression any longer. A hint of terror had flashed through his eyes and he’d stepped back quickly. He’d cleared his throat.

“Shall we?” he’d asked motioning to the stone path before them. 

And Sansa had nodded, feeling hurt, not because he had rejected her hug, but because she desperately wanted to comfort him and didn’t know how.

*

“Kneel.” The septon’s deep voice brought her back to the present. His gestures, his tone of voice, the way he acted, as if he weren’t human at all, was intimidating. Sansa couldn’t help but feel nervous in his presence. She turned to Petyr as he obeyed the septon’s command. Petyr always looked elegant, but today he was specially handsome, Sansa thought, her cheeks feeling warm. Her eyes traveled down his dark blue tunic patterned with abstract shapes, and she tried to picture the moment when they were finally alone. Would he allow her to help undress him? To unfasten his tunic and undo his shirt buttons one by one. Would he let her touch his scar? She’d never seen it. He’d told her it was large and ugly, and it had pained her to hear the hate in his voice, to hear him use the word ugly. Perhaps tonight he would let her comfort him. Perhaps he would allow himself to be vulnerable with her.

How would it feel to press her bare chest to his, to run her fingers over his body and let him do the same? Petyr seemed to love the physical contact with her although his displays of affection were always subtle. Usually whenever they met in the garden, he offered her his hand as if he were going to lead her to a secret place, and Sansa always grabbed it without hesitation, the touch of his skin made her heart beat faster in her chest (she’d realized the only times he didn’t wear gloves were during their walks). However, they just took two or three steps before he let go of her hand again. Sometimes, he also touched her arm as they walked or stroked a lock of her hair, but he’d never gone further. He’d never kissed her or touched any other part of her body or seen her naked.

How would he react tonight, when they were finally alone as husband and wife? Would he touch her and kiss her like a starving man knowing that no one could separate them now? Would her first time hurt?

“Sweetling,” he said softly. 

Sansa blinked. He was offering her his hand, a gentle smile upon his lips. She realized then that she hadn’t kneeled yet. Behind them, Jaime shifted his weight. It was clear he couldn’t wait to go back to the castle. It wouldn’t be too long before he could leave. This was the final part of the ceremony, the part when they would become a husband and wife.

“Sorry,” she murmured taking Petyr’s hand. It was warm, and she felt comforted when his fingers closed around hers. She kneeled beside him.

“It’s alright, sweetling. Don’t worry.” Gently, he planted a kiss on the back of her hand and took her other hand, his movements calm. When he looked up at her again, Sansa stared into his eyes, feeling more relaxed. 

The septon leaned towards them and tied a ribbon around their joined hands.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

He’d used a solemn tone, and a heavy silence followed his words. Sansa knew what they were supposed to do now. It was expected that the groom and the bride kissed to seal their union. Her stomach fluttered, and she licked her lips unconsciously. She wished this were a private moment, that the septon and Jaime weren’t looking at them, but this was impossible. 

Petyr was watching her face attentively, but strangely he didn’t move. He was waiting for her permission, she realized then. This made her feel more at easy. She gave him a smile and leaned forward, stopping when she was a few inches from his face. His eyes lit up, and he began leaning forward slowly. She closed her eyes and smiled when his lips covered hers. He smelled of mint and soap. He must have taking a bath before coming here, Sansa thought. She’d also done so. She’d spent over half an hour in the bathtub with her eyes closed. She’d used a lavender soap, and the scent had helped her relax, though she hadn’t managed to empty her mind, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about tonight. She wasn’t afraid of Petyr, but she didn’t know what to expect from her wedding night. Before moving to King’s Landing with her family, when she still believed in fairy tales, her septa had told her that usually the first time was painful for women and that they could experience some bleeding. Was this truth? If so, how much would it hurt? She would find out in a few hours. After the ceremony, a carriage would take them to Thorn, a little village. Petyr had told her that he’d rented a cottage for tonight so they could have total privacy. The next day they would travel to Harrenhal, their new home. Cersei had granted the castle to him in return for his many services to the Crown. 

Sansa’s hands moved along with Petyr’s when he reached to touch her neck with his knuckles. It was a brief contact, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Gods, if she reacted this way with a slight graze, how would she react when his hands traveled all over her body?

Petyr pulled away, but Sansa couldn’t see his expression because the septon leaned forward between them and began removing the ribbon from their hands. A silence fell over them. When he finished, he pulled away, and Sansa saw then that there was a special sparkle in Petyr’s eyes, one she’d never seen before. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation, and she wished they were in the cottage already.

The septon broke the silence, his tone solemn: 

“The ceremony is over. You’re husband and wife now.”

*

They stood up slowly, their hands still joined. Sansa breathed out when he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her fingertips. His gesture caught her off guard, and even though this wasn't the kind of ceremony she'd dreamed of when she listened to the songs about brave knights and princesses, she felt special. When he looked up at her, she smiled and he returned her smile.

“Ready to leave?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A carriage with seven horses was waiting for them in a clearing in the woods. The coachman greeted them and opened the doors. One of the horses turned to Sansa and looked her in the eye. His gaze was so peaceful. Sansa thought of the first time she'd ridden a horse; she was six, and her father had taught her. He'd also given her the mare as a birthday present. Months later, when she felt confident enough, she'd started going horse riding with her siblings. She had very fond memories of those years.

She moved closer and raised her arm tentatively. The horse didn’t move so she pet his neck. Perhaps she could have a mare in Harrenhal. She'd like to go horse riding with Petyr. It would be a beautiful way to know their new home, to know the places that surrounded the castle. When she turned to him again, he was smiling. She smiled too. She'd tell him tomorrow, she decided.

They sat on the back seats, her left arm brushing against his. The coachman took the reins and exclaimed.

“Let’s go!”

The carriage started moving, and suddenly the realization hit her. It was real. They were married. Sansa looked down at her lap and smoothed down her dress. Her hands shook slightly.

“Hey.” Petyr placed his right hand on her left one gently. “Are you alright?”

She turned, touched by the concern in his voice. There was a soft expression in his eyes. Sansa placed her other hand on top of his and gave him a smile.

“Yes. I’m just a little nervous.”

His eyes flickered with understanding.

“It’s perfectly normal. But Sansa, you have nothing to worry about, I promise. We don’t have to do anything tonight or any other night, unless you’re ready and willing. I want you to be happy, not miserable. I’d never force you to do anything.” He brushed his thumb over the back of her left hand and asked in a husky voice: "Do you believe me?”

His breathing had quickened. Sansa stared into his eyes and allowed herself to get lost in the gray-green as his thumb continued caressing her hand. His gaze looked sincere, and there was a hint of vulnerability in there too. Sansa realized then that he was hoping that she craved his touch at some point, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He mustn't know that she wanted him already, that she’d wanted him since a while ago.

“Petyr.” She squeezed her hand, and her lips trembled a little when she tried to smile but a shaky, a relieved laugh, escaped her throat instead.

He furrowed his brow, confused.

“Petyr,” she said again, this time smiling. “I believe you. And…” She paused biting her lower lip.

A relieved look appeared on his face. He tilted his head, curious, Hopeful.

“And...?” he asked.

She managed to keep looking at him, her heart beating so fast that almost hurt.

“And... I want you.”

His breath hitched in his throat.

“You want me?” 

“Yes. And I’d like to try… tonight. If you’re not opposed to the idea.” She felt a little strange talking about their wedding night in a carriage, but since he’d started the conversation, she thought it was a good moment to let him know what she thought, what she wanted. 

He looked at her in amazement as if he hadn’t expected her to say that.

“Opposed to the idea?” He chuckled, but she knew he wasn’t laughing at her. He leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

“We’ll try then,” he said pulling away. “And if you want to stop, you just have to say it and we’ll stop. I won’t try to persuade you to change your mind. You have my word.”

*

The rest of the ride, Petyr told her about a legend he’d heard about Thorn. It was about a mythical creature that granted wishes. In truth, Sansa wasn’t certain if the legend existed or if he was making up a story to help her feel at ease, but it was working. Sansa was so invested in the tale that she didn’t think of tonight until they arrived. Before, they’d made a stop to eat some cheese, a handful of nuts and an apple that Petyr had cut in half with his dagger.

The cottage was on the outskirts, far from the other buildings. The coachman left their trunks near the fence and saw them off. When the carriage disappeared in the horizon, Sansa looked at the cottage again and smiled. It looked so cozy with the front garden full of flowers, the stone path, the well with a brick parapet around it and the thatched roof. 

“Do you like it?” Petyr asked her when they stopped in front on the fence.

“I love it. It’s beautiful.”

His face lit up. He kissed her head and murmured:

“I’m glad.”

Sansa didn’t know if it had been the tone of his voice or the kiss, but her cheeks flushed. He opened the fence and moved away so she could enter first.

“Thank you,” she said smiling at him.

“You’re welcome.”

As they followed the stone path, Petyr asked her:

“Do you know why I chose this cottage in particular?”

“No.”

“It has a small hot spring at the back of the cottage,” he said. “The owner assured me that the water is clean and isn’t too hot. I thought we could take a bath before going to the bedroom. It’s said hot springs relieve muscle tension and reduce stress. And... “ He paused, and Sansa saw his eyes shine playfully.

“And...?” she repeated biting back a grin.

“And I could help too. With a massage.” He specified. 

Oh. Sansa grinned then. The idea sounded wonderful. 

“I’d like that,” she said.

“Great. Then we could carry the trunks to the bedroom and take two candles and towels.”

Sansa agreed.

It was warm inside. The curtains were open, and the orange rays of the sun shone through the windows. These were the last moments before sunset, she thought as she followed Petyr along the corridor. The night would have fallen by the time they got in the hot spring.

In their bedroom, the fire crackled in the fireplace. The owner must have lit it before leaving the cottage. They left the trunks beside the wardrobe and took off their cloaks. Sansa bent over to open her trunk, but she stopped when heard Petyr’s voice:

“I think I’m going to remove my clothes here and wrap myself in a towel if that's okay,” he said.

Sansa stood up slowly and began walking towards him. Petyr stood still, but she saw his chest move up and down more quickly as she came closer to him. Behind him, the sun was descending and the last rays streamed into the room, coloring it with shades of red. 

Sansa stopped in front of him and put her hand on his chest, where his heart was beating fast. When she heard him breathe out, she looked up to meet his eyes.

“It’s more than okay, Petyr. I think I’ll do the same, if it’s also okay with you.”

“It’s perfect.” He leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. This time, his tongue caressed her upper lip slightly before he pulled away. Sansa had never felt his tongue before and even though the kiss had been brief, it ignited something inside her. She parted her lips and placed her other hand on his chest too. She wanted him to do that again, but she needed to tell him something first.

“Petyr.”

"Yes?"

“I’d like to say something before we go on. I think it’s important that I tell you, but you don’t have to say anything, alright? I just want you to know.”

He seemed a little surprised, but he said quickly:

“Of course. You can tell me anything, Sansa.”

“It’s about your scar,” she began and felt his body tense under her hands. He didn’t speak so Sansa continued: “I just want you to know that I’d understand if you felt nervous about letting me see it, but I assure you, Petyr: I would never, never, think that your scar is ugly. I just want you to know that you shouldn’t be worried about my reaction, in case you are. I... I care about you. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re alright.”

“Sansa…” He swallowed thickly. She could tell that he didn’t know what to say or what to do.

“It’s alright, Petyr. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, that’s all.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. He exhaled as she pulled away, and he nodded when their eyes met again.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

She nodded too and gave him a smile.

“No, where were we?” she asked using a cheerful tone of voice.

His face relaxed instantly and a hint of gratitude flashed through his eyes before it was replaced by a look of amusement.

“I think we were about to undress, sweetling.”

“Oh, yes. You’re right, my lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words the septon say are taken from Game of Thrones as well as the use of the ribbon to tie the bride' and groom's hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but this fic is becoming longer than I expected so it will have another chapter. Thank you so much for reading and for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and suscriptions. It means so much! :-)

She saw him shiver when she said those words. A hint of hunger flickered in his eyes, and she knew he was remembering the few occasions on which she’d used the words “my lord” or “Lord Baelish” to address him. At the Hand’s Tournament, in the castle, in the gardens. Back then these words had had no connotation, no hidden meaning behind. It had been just the proper way to address him. The polite way. 

The first time she’d said his name, Petyr, had been seven days ago, when he’d announced her that Cersei had agreed to marry him to her. Of course, this had been his intention since Sansa became the traitor’s daughter, since Joffrey set her aside like a broken toy, but Petyr hadn’t told her then. He’d waited for her to begin trusting him. It had been him who had suggested her to go for a walk with him every afternoon. At first, they’d begun talking about the characters of the most popular ballads, Jonquil and Florian. Ser Duncan the Tall and his squire Egg. The Maiden Fair. They talked about their tour de force and about the conception of love and honor in the songs and tales. Soon, he started telling her about the books he’d read after leaving Riverrun. Books about strategic thinking, about the evil and the good, about power. He'd encouraged her to give him her opinion: Did Fate exist? And Fortune? Could you be honourable in a world of players and pieces?

She’d agreed to marry him. She’d told herself that it was the best option. She wasn’t safe in King’s Landing: everyday she woke up fearing what Joffrey might do with her now that he wasn’t going to marry her, fearing the sickening ideas he could come up with. She couldn’t be certain about Petyr’s intentions, but he’d always been kind to her, and she enjoyed his company. He was well-educated but not pretentious, and he knew how to make her laugh. What would her family say if they knew she was attracted to him? If they knew she’d just married him?

What would they say if they could see her now, tracing her fingertips along the soft fabric of his tunic, her cheeks flushed as if she’d been running in the snow?

They would say he’d manipulated her. They would say he’d managed to get into her mind and plant some ideas. They would say she was too naive, an easy prey for someone who loved scheming.

She looked him in the eye. She was aware that many of the things she’d heard about Littlefinger were true.

_He would see this country burn if he could be king of the ashes._

_I’d risk everything to get what I want._

_Chaos is a ladder._

Littlefinger was a dangerous man, but perhaps, (she wanted to hope) he could be Petyr when he was with her. The boy that dreamed of heroic deeds and kind-hearted princes. The boy that looked for secret entrances in the trees. Entrances to better worlds.

She wanted to hope. She wanted to trust. She needed to. Her path was intertwined with his now. She swallowed without averting her gaze and asked: 

“May I help you undress?”

He breathed in. Had he hoped she would ask? Was he ready to take off his shirt? Slowly, he nodded and kissed her on the forehead.

“But first I should close the curtains and lit some candles,” he said.

“Alright.” She watched him walk towards the desk, where there were several candles. He took one and moved it closer to the burning fireplace. The hem of his tunic almost brushed the floor when he bent down.

Later, he lit the other candles, one by one, without rushing. The little flames fluttered when he placed the candles on the desk, his movements calm, precise. The colors of the fire colored his hands. It was soothing to look at him. Sansa was mesmerized. Part of her didn’t want him to finish (though it was stronger the part of her that wanted him to come closer to her again).

He closed the curtains when the sun was almost hidden, casting the room into semidarkness. The atmosphere was quiet now.

Sansa felt strangely relaxed. She didn’t know if this would last (perhaps when they went back here again, her stomach would flutter and her heart would pound hard), but it would be alright regardless, she was certain.

Petyr turned to her and asked softly:

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” She smiled. There was something gentle in his face now, something that was entirely Petyr, not Littlefinger.

He began walking towards her but this time he stopped when there were about three steps between them and tilted his face. His lips curved upwards slightly. He was waiting for her to come closer.

Sansa took the three steps without hesitation. One, two three. Something flickered in his eyes when she placed her hands on his chest. Something between amazement, pride and hope. His heart was beating fast under her right hand. 

Petyr.

He was there, somewhere behind the mask. He was alive, the dreamer, the boy that had pretended to be the Prince of Dragonflies. The boy with songs in his head and stubborn hope inside his chest. Sansa held her breath. He must know she could feel his heartbeats, but he hadn’t moved her hand away. He was letting her see the way his heart reacted to her.

“Petyr,” the word escaped her throat like a sigh.

He leaned forward and she closed her eyes. She parted her lips unconsciously, a silent invitation. She hadn’t expected him to ask now, but he did: 

“May I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Yes.” It almost sounded like a plea.

He put his hands on her waist. His fingertips didn’t press against her skin; he was touching her as if her body were made of sand and seawater. His lips brushed against the corner of her mouth, and Sansa tilted her head backwards, sighing. The kiss tasted so much sweeter than in the Kingswood. When his teeth nibbled her upper lip lightly, she opened her mouth wider and gasped when his tongue found hers. He stood still, giving her time to become used to it. Her eyes were still closed and she could hear the fire crackling. Warmth was spreading across her lower belly, and it was growing more intense as the seconds passed. Sansa had never experienced something like this. She moved her mouth and felt a tickling sensation in her stomach and in her back. Petyr reciprocated her kiss, slowly at first, eagerly when she ran her hands through his temples. His hair was soft; it was like touching feathers. He hadn’t probably let anyone touch his hair before. But he was letting her. He grabbed her hands and placed them on the buttons of his tunic. She managed to unbutton it as he kissed her throat and her neck (she didn’t know how). He raised his arms and helped her take his tunic off. Then his mouth claimed hers once more, and she hummed. 

They both were breathing hard when she finally broke the kiss, their panting mixed with the burning fireplace sounds. Slowly, tentatively, she moved her hands to the first button of his shirt. His hold on her waist tightened.

She paused. Although he was still breathing hard, his shoulders had tensed; the change was almost imperceptible but she’d sensed it.

“Petyr. It’s alright if you don’t want me to see your chest. I promise. I can turn around and wait until you’re wrapped in a towel. I understand.”

She understood if he wasn’t ready to let her see. She understood if he needed to cover his chest for now. For as long as he needed.

“No.” He swallowed. “I want you to unbutton my shirt. Please.”

“I don’t want you to force yourself. You don’t have to prove anything. If this is making you feel uneasy, we should…” He silenced her with a peck on the lips.

“Please,” he whispered. “I need you to do this.”

But he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet, she understood.

“Alright,” she cooed and started undoing the first button, her movements delicate. His shoulders relaxed and he breathed out. She undid the second button as she paid attention to his body language. She would stop if he gave any signs of anxiety no matter what he’d said.

Slowly, she undid the other buttons, one by one, and Petyr kept his eyes fixed on the top of her head, his hands resting on her waist. He wasn’t applying pressure.

His breath didn’t hitch as her fingers moved, as his shirt opened from his neck to the spot below his navel. When she finished, she cupped his face with both hands and smiled at him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he said, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You can take it off.”

“Alright.” She pulled the two sides apart unhurriedly, looking him in the eye. Petyr didn’t avert his gaze. When the sides of his shirt began sliding off his shoulders, he moved his arms, and the shirt fell on the floor. He brushed her chin with his fingertips, the touch so light that it tickled.

“You can look,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

Of course, he was referring to his scar. Sansa nodded and looked down at his chest. She knew the cut had been deep and that he’d almost died, yet she felt a lump in her throat when her eyes traveled from her collarbone to her navel. She felt sad and angry. How could Brandon do this to him? She wanted to tell Petyr that she was so sorry, but she knew he wasn’t ready to hear that. He wasn’t ready for her compassion. She tried to hide her sadness, her rage and leaned forward. Tenderly, she peppered kisses along his scar. She heard him hold his breath when she planted the first one, on his collarbone, but he didn’t try to stop her. When she reached to his navel, she kept her lips pressed to his skin for several seconds before pulling away.

He was looking at her in awe.

She smiled and turned around. 

“Would you help me unfasten my dress, my lord?”

She almost could feel him swallow and that brought another smile to her face.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t have trouble unfastening her dress. Soon, her back and her shoulders were bare. She shivered when he pushed her hair off her shoulders; her curls cascaded down her covered chest. He traced his fingers along her spine. 

“It’s done, sweetling.”

She turned around. Her eyes met his. Now it was her who swallowed. She took his hands and placed it on the front of her dress, just above her breasts.

“You can take it off now, my lord.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky and his eyes gentle.

“Yes.”

Soon her dress was on the floor, and her corset, and her small clothes. Petyr helped her, but his fingers only grazed at her ribs, her hips and her heels in the process. When she stood in front of him, naked, he didn’t avert his gaze from her face. He was holding back.

“I think it’s your turn, my lord,” she said. It was a little strange to be naked before a man but she didn’t feel the urge to cover herself. She felt safe with him.

“Of course, my lady.” 

He paused after taking off his pants and looked at her. She knew what he was silently asking. She smiled and nodded.

“Go on.”

He nodded too and began unlacing his breeches. Sansa couldn’t help it. She turned her head, her cheeks feeling hot. Soon, she heard him walking towards his trunk. He was going to take a towel, so she walked towards her own trunk and pulled a beige towel. She wrapped it around herself and tied a knot. Then she twisted her hair into a bun and used several hairpins to secure it. 

When she turned around, he was also wrapped in a towel and he was holding a tray with lemon cakes. 

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have a wedding feast today, my love, but I plan on organizing one in Harrenhal. Until then, I hope this can make up for.”

My love.

Sansa opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, a big smile spread across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines in italics are taken from the show.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now I can promise the next chapter will be the last one. This scene has become longer than I expected. Thank you so much for reading and for your comments, kudos, bookmarks and suscriptions! :-)

He breathed out and the corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards.

He looked relieved, Sansa realized with surprise. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d been fearing she would be disappointed with the wedding ceremony. Sansa didn’t know how he’d imagined his wedding day. Surely not with a Lannister and a septon that had almost acted as if he were sentencing them to the exile. Was he disappointed? She wasn’t. The circumstances hadn’t been ideal, it was true, but she wasn’t the girl that dreamed of princes anymore. 

She wondered if he’d have liked to invite someone in special. He’d told her once that he had no friends, but perhaps there had been some people in his past he’d come to care about. 

She came closer to him and gave him another smile. She wanted him to know it was alright, that he had nothing to worry about. Her eyes set on the tray with the lemon cakes before meeting his again.

“This is the best wedding present you could ever give me, Petyr.”

His face lit up and he chuckled.

“Oh, sweetling.” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice, but also fondness. “I have more presents for you, many more.” He breathed out, and his voice sounded huskier when he asked. “Did you really believe this was all I had for you?”

“Well…” In truth she hadn’t expected any present, nor did she had expected he planned on celebrating their union.

“Oh, Sansa.” His right hand released the tray to cup her cheek. “Don’t you know by now how much I care for you?”

His words left her speechless. The corners of her mouth shook slightly when she parted her lips. Of course, she had hoped, but after all she’d gone through, she’d learned it was dangerous to do so because there was always a chance that your hopes were crushed.

His voice brought her back to reality.

“Though I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until your wedding feast.” He smirked.

That made her giggle. She looked at him grateful for helping her dispel sad thoughts. Her memories of King’s Landing weren’t going to ruin her first night with him. She wouldn’t allow it. Sansa glanced at the lemon cakes once more.

“We could save them for later, after we come back here,” she suggested.

After we make love, she added in her mind, and her cheeks tinged with red.

Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes flickered in a way that made her shiver and he whispered:

“You’ve just read my mind, sweetling.” 

*

He put the tray on the desk and grabbed two candles. He gave one to her, and Sansa reached for his free hand afterwards, an action that brought a soft smile to his face.

They left the house silently.

The moonlight bounced off the hot spring, casting a silver shadow on the surface. The hot spring was surrounded by stone pavers that matched the side stairs.

They placed the candles on a paver. Then Petyr turned to her. His silver temples looked brighter under the moon. He was very handsome, Sansa thought. Something in her expression must have given him a clue of what she was thinking because he tilted his face with amusement and opened his mouth, though before he could say anything, Sansa pressed a kiss to his lips. He held his breath, surprised, but soon he was wrapping his hand around her waist as if silently asking her not to pull away too soon. 

Her lips curved upwards against his. She was certain he’d forgotten what he was going to say. A soft laugh escaped her throat, and she savored her victory.

A mistake. 

She should have known that Petyr wasn’t going to stood there, accepting his defeat. She should know by now that he didn’t play fair.

His tongue slipped between her lips, making her gasp in surprise, but before she could recover, his hand moved up to her ribcage, tickling her.

Sansa jumped and pulled away.

“Petyr!”

His eyes shone playfully.

“You started, sweetling.”

Alright, she wouldn’t let her guard down so easily next time, she thought as her laughter still filled the air. Petyr kept watching her face. He looked so pleased with himself.

When she calmed, she put her hands on her waist.

“I think we ended in a tie.”

“For now,” he replied, and she could tell he was trying to suppress a smirk.

Smug, she thought. An idea entered her mind.

She reached for the knot on her towel, and his gaze followed the direction of her hands. His eyes widened. Perfect.

“Could you help me with this, my lord?” she asked in an innocent voice and dropped her arms to her sides. 

His eyes met hers again, his mouth half-open.

“Yes,” he rasped.

He didn’t stand there any longer. He came closer to her quicker than she’d expected and that made her laugh harder than before.

“Oh, you think this is funny, don’t you?” he asked amused as he put his hands on the knot, so close to her right breast.

She let out a shaky laugh this time. 

“Yes.”

“You’re so wicked.” His lips twitched. “Would my lady let me untie her towel?” 

This time, she didn’t trust her voice so she just nodded.

He began to undo the knot. Sansa looked down at his hands, wondering if he could feel her rapid heartbeats. What was sure was that he could feel her chest moving faster now.

When he finished, he kept holding the two sides of the towel together and looked her in the eye, searching for confirmation. After she nodded, he let go of one side, and the towel began sliding off. A gentle breeze blew then, making the cloth flutter. Sansa didn’t know if she’d shivered, but Petyr touched her arm, concern flickering in his eyes.

“It’s cold,” he said softly. “You should get in the hot spring. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

It would just take him a few seconds to remove his towel, Sansa knew he’d said that because didn’t want her to catch a cold, but perhaps he’d also said that because he’d noticed her blush when he’d taken off his breeches in the bedroom and had come to the conclusion that she’d felt uncomfortable. But she hadn’t. She’d just felt a little shy. Sansa cupped his face, giving him a reassuring smile.

“We could get in together. I can wait for you to remove your towel, Petyr. It’s alright,” she added, hoping he’d understand that she meant his nakedness didn’t make her uncomfortable.

Sansa saw a hint of relief in his eyes. He’d understood, and he looked touched for a second. Then he masked his emotions beneath a look of amusement.

“Ha, I knew you couldn’t bear being separated from me!” 

Sansa huffed and tried to bite back a grin without success.

Petyr undid the knot quickly and let the towel fall onto the pavers. This wasn’t typical of him. Under other circumstances he’d have folded the two towels carefully. But he wasn’t used to the cold. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “I think I’m not going to get out of the hot spring until the sun is at its peak.”

Sansa grabbed his hand, laughing. This was the first time she heard him curse.

“So do you plan on sleeping in the water, my lord?” she asked as they began descending the stairs together. The water was pleasantly warm.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

They finished descending the stairs. The water reached their shoulders. Petyr let out a contented sigh and turned to her. She feigned a pout and saw he tilt his head in confusion. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Then I guess I’ll have to spend the night alone in that bed…” she began. “So many hours until dawn, but I’ guess I must respect my lord’s wishes.” She sighed loudly and began walking backwards, her arms creating small waves in the hot spring.

Petyr was still staring at her. His eyes had been darkening as she spoke, and now his irises looked like a stormy sea. Sansa stopped her movements. 

This time she was certain she’d shivered though not due to the cold air.

He began coming closer, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt as if his gaze were consuming her whole. His steps were slowly, measured. Then why did she think he was going to leap on her? She remembered a story her septa had told her and Arya one night in Winterfell, as the rain furiously hit the windows and the lighting flashes lit the entire castle.

It was about a creature with male form that lived in ponds and lakes. The story said there was magic in his eyes. An ancient and powerful magic. If you looked at them, you were lost. The creature enticed you to get in the water and all your logical thoughts vanished, and you just wanted to get closer. Sansa didn’t know what happened next; her septa hadn’t told them. This was supposed to be a terror story, but Sansa hadn’t been scared when she heard it.

And certainly, she wasn’t scared now.

Petyr was only a few inches away from her. His eyes seemed to be promising her all kinds of sinful things.

Her stomach fluttered in anticipation. What was he doing to her? She'd never felt this way. When he reached to grab her left hand, her breath caught in her throat. The corner of his mouth twitched. Who was the wicked one now? She breathed out when he interlaced his fingers with hers.

“I think I’m not cold anymore,” he whispered. “What do you think?”

She swallowed not knowing what he was expecting her to say.

“Your hand is warm,” she finally replied.

“Hmm?” He stepped forward. Now his body was almost brushing against hers. “And what about my chest, sweetling?”

“Your chest?” she repeated swallowing.

“Is it warm too?”

She raised her right arm tentatively.

“Go on,” he whispered. “Touch me.”

She ran her fingers through his chest hair, carefully not to apply pressure on his scar. She didn’t want to risk hurting him. He shuddered, and his breath caressed her face. 

“Good?” she asked smiling.

“Yes.” He leaned in for a kiss, and Sansa closed her eyes and parted her lips. She almost heard his smile right before his mouth found hers. His tongue caressed hers as his chest brushed lighlty against her breasts, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Turn around,” he murmured, and Sansa did it so eagerly that she created little bubbles that spread over the surface. She felt his chest against her back and his hands on her elbows.

“Hmm, do you know what I’d like to do know, sweetling?” he asked planting light kisses down her neck. He traced his fingers along her arms and took her hands. Slowly, he began rubbing his thumbs against her wrists.

Sansa bit her lip, preventing a moan from escaping her throat.

“No, my lord,” she tried to use a playful tone, but her voice sounded weak. 

Of course, he must have noticed, but he didn’t make any comment about it. Instead, he said:

“I’d like to take off those beautiful hairpins from your hair, one by one, and watch your auburn curls fall down your shoulders.” He nuzzled her earlobe as he spoke; his breath was hot against her skin. “It’s a shame it’s so late. You shouldn’t sleep with wet hair, so I’ll have to wait until we are in the bedroom. What do you think, love? You could lie in bed with your eyes closed, the sound of the fire crackling in the background as my fingers stroke your hair.” He lightly suckled the spot below her jawline and Sansa tightened her grip on his hands and pressed herself closer to him. It was then when she felt his erection against her low back. He was already aroused, but he didn’t seem in a hurry. Petyr kissed her temple, before returning to her neck, and she closed her legs, trying to relieve the ache she was starting to feel between her legs. She wondered how long before they couldn’t bear it any longer. “Hmm. You haven’t answered my question yet.” He murmured near her earlobe.

“Sorry, what did you ask?”

Even though she couldn’t see him now, she was certain he had a smug look on his face.

“Would you let me take off your hairsprings when we are in the bedroom, sweetling? Would you let me comb your hair with my fingers?”

“Yes.” She would let him do it right now, even though she knew he was right. Her hair would take hours to dry and she would risk catching and cold. But it was difficult to think clearly with the feeling of his hands and his mouth in her skin and the sound of his voice filling her mind.

“Good.” He nibbled her earlobe lightly. “Very good.” He traced his fingers over her forearms, and it felt as if he was brushing a feather against her skin. Sansa gasped and stood on tip toes involuntarily. He chuckled against her neck, and she could feel the vibration of his chest against her back.

“Does that tickle?” he murmured.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded breathless. She bet there was a wicked smile on his face now.

He placed his hands on her low back. Sansa bit her lip, trying to keep quiet, but when his hands began gliding upward slowly, applying pressure in a twisting motion, she shivered, a strangled moan escaping her throat.

“Gods, you’re so responsive,” he said reverently and placed his hands on her kidneys.

Sansa let out a faint laugh. The touch felt so intimate.

“I guess that’s a good thing,” she said, and she didn’t recognize her own voice.

“It’s perfect,” he assured her.

She turned around expecting to see a smug look on his face, but there was awe instead.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured.

Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders, following her instinct, and kissed him.

“Petyr,” she said against her mouth, but he interrupted her with another kiss, coaxing her to open her mouth She hummed tilting her heard back. His hands slid to her hips. “Petyr,” she tried again, opening her eyes. “Could…?” Another kiss. “Could we… oh gods”. His hands caressed her belly and stopped just below her breasts. “Petyr, please.”

He stopped immediately and tried to pull away, but Sansa kept her hands around his shoulders. He looked remorseful.

“I’m sorry, sweetling. Was I going too fast?” he asked. The playful and seductive tone had been replaced by concern.

“No!” She cupped his face and gave him a smile. “I was enjoying it. So much." She blushed. "I just wanted to ask you if we could go back to the bedroom.”

Relief crossed his face.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He let out a sigh and returned her smile. “Would you like us to get out of the hot spring together?”

She nodded, already reaching for his hand. His smile grew wider.

As soon as they get out of the water, they grabbed their towels and wrapped them around their bodies. Then, Petyr pulled her closer, his right hand resting on her waist, and they ran towards the house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Telling someone a story is an act of love.**

***

The warmth from the fireplace caressed their skin like an embrace when they stepped into the bedroom.

She could hear him sigh after he closed the door. It had been a relieved, a contentment sound. Their skin was still damp after the bath in the hot spring, and Sansa could feel the heat dispelling the cold from her bones. 

The sensation wasn’t foreign and brought back some memories: 

_The frosty mornings in Winterfell. Shades of pink, lilac and orange in the sky. Tree branches covered in ice. The scent of fresh moss and bark. The soles of her boots wet after walking on the snow for hours. The heat of the castle coloring her cheeks when she finally crossed the threshold._

She was always oblivious to the cold while she was in the middle of something she enjoyed. She lost track of time and only realized _after_ , when she experienced the contrast, the heat after the cold. The pleasant tingling sensation spreading across her body.

As if her bones had been covered with frost and the sun were melting it.

Now that she was standing in the center of the room, her towel felt damper than when she’d been running under the sky with Petyr. He was pulling a clean towel from his trunk when her shoulder shook lightly. 

“You’re cold,” he muttered walking towards her, the clean towel resting on his arm. He took her hands and lead her to the fireplace. “Here, let me warm you.” It hadn’t sounded like a question, but his eyes were asking for permission. 

Sansa smiled at him.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m alright. I’ll dry myself later.”

Liar, she thought. She could see he was making an effort not to shiver.

“At least, take off your towel,” she said. “It must be wet.”

He tilted his head. Judging by his expression he seemed about to tease her. _You are eager to see me naked again, sweetling?_ But he didn’t say those words. He didn’t say anything in fact because he shuddered.

“Oh, come on, Petyr. You are going to catch a cold.” She reached for his towel and untied it, not giving him time to protest. 

But Petyr didn’t try to stop her, nor did he complain. He kept watching her face, and his eyes looked greyer now, like the sky before the rain. Something was stirring in his gaze.

 _Oh, Petyr._ Sansa’s hands trembled when she realized what was happening. The schemer. The player. The man that could foresee the trouble, the complications, the opportunities. The man that had in mind every possible outcome.

This man was still surprised when she showed that she cared.

Hadn’t he been able to foresee the possibility that she cared or had he been trying to convince himself that this was just a foolish wish, a hypothesis that would never come true? 

Distrusting everyone had been his defense for so many years. He’d learned to live without emotional ties; he’d managed to convince himself that he didn’t need anyone. The walls he’d built around himself had prevented him from falling apart after what he’d experienced in Riverrun. The mask he’d been wearing like a shield had turned him into one of the most powerful men in Westeros. 

He’d been keeping Littlefinger alive all this time. She wondered what words he’d told himself over and over again to keep him in charge. What words he’d used to hide Petyr.

She finished removing his towel. Her hand stroked his stomach, a few inches below his scar, and he shuddered again, but this time it was a slow shudder, and he exhaled at the same time, closing his eyes as if trying to save this feeling in his mind. Her hand on his stomach seeking to comfort, to chase away his doubts, to feed his hope. What if…?

What if it’s not too late to let Petyr breathe and act and feel?

She saw this question flickering in his eyes, and she didn’t know if he wanted her to answer him or to pretend that she hadn’t just read him. She pulled her hand away, the uncertainty burning inside. Perhaps it was best to answer him through actions. Every day.

She removed her towel without averting his gaze. The heat from the fireplace caressed the left side of her ribcage, her waist and leg. Petyr swallowed and came closer to her.

“Let me warm you,” he repeated softer this time, and Sansa nodded.

It was like a massage, his hands tracing small circles with the towel over her body. The towel smelled of mint leaves and sage. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel as if she were in a forest.

The back of her nape, her shoulders, her collarbone, her belly, her back. His hands moved unhurriedly as the sound of the flames consuming the logs filled the room. He was especially gentle when he covered her breasts with the towel. First her right breast, then her left one, and Sansa held her breath, his sudden tenderness taking her aback. 

She realized then that she’d been cherishing every moment he’d showed tenderness towards her.

The realization hit her, leaving her breathless. A bunch of emotions stirred in her chest. She tried to identify each one as Petyr began kneeling in front of her, his hands (covered by the towel) moving down to dry her legs. 

But her emotions were too blended to separate them from each other, or perhaps Petyr’s hands tracing small circles over her thigh were too distracting.

“Have you heard the story of Brendan and all the wonders he saw in the Emerald Land?” he asked suddenly, looking up to meet her eyes.

Sansa blinked, trying to push away her emotions. She was a little surprised by his question. The story of Brendan? It must be a folktale, but she wasn’t familiar with it. 

She shook her head. He smiled softly.

“It’s a folktale from The Fingers.” His hands began sliding down her leg. “It tells the story of a young boy, the son of a fisherman, that lived in a small and quiet island. His name was Brendan and he liked to explore. He walked among the big rocks when the tide went out even though it was risky. He was in search of peculiar things: strange shells, shining pebbles… a treasure chest,” he added looking at her with amusement, and Sansa laughed. He began massaging her other leg: “When the sky was clear blue, the boy liked going to the cliffs to watch the seagulls, the great cormorants, the hawks, the falcons, the finches.” His hand rubbed the back of her knee and moved down. “One day, the boy saw something was shining among the rocks with his binoculars. It emitted a green light.”

“A green light? What was that object?” 

Petyr’s lips curled into a smile. Instead of answering her, he finished drying her heel and moved his hands up, but he stopped before sliding the towel between her legs.

“May I?” he asked gently.

Sansa nodded. He’d never touched her there before, and she didn’t know what to expect. Petyr massaged her between her legs with gentle movements, not applying pressure, but Sansa almost wished he applied a little more pressure. His movements were making her feel an ache, and Sansa bit her lip, not knowing whether she wanted to close her legs or bend her knees. When he finished, she almost whined. He didn’t seem to notice though. He left the towel on the floor next to the others and turned to her. His hands cupped her face, and the warmth in her belly grew more intense.

“What… what about you?” she tried to speak in a normal voice, but she failed.

Petyr smiled leaning forward. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t need to dry myself. I’m warm enough now.” He said the last words against her lips, before parting them with his tongue, and Sansa couldn’t think of a proper reply. He kissed her as if they’d been apart for centuries, as if they’d just recognized each other in the mist. Sansa wrapped her arms around his waist, and Petyr didn’t fight back. I’m hugging him now, she thought. Finally. The corners of her mouth started curving upwards, but the movements of his tongue wiped her smile. She moaned. His hands slid to the back of her nape.

He’d been right: he was warm now. The heat from the fireplace had made the cold from his body vanish. She’d never imagined it would feel so good, the sensation of his skin against hers. She pressed herself closer to him and felt his erection against her thigh. She could also feel his hunger in the way his fingers were buried in her hair, in the way his mouth was devouring hers.

“Come with me,” he muttered against her lips before pulling away. “I’ll continue the story as I take off those pretty hairpins from your hair.”

Sansa was surprised of his self-control. She’d thought he wouldn’t bother to let her hair loose. 

He led her to the bed and pushed her down gently, so she lay on her stomach. The sheets were soft and smelled fresh.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked sitting beside her.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He kissed her shoulder and began taking off her hairpins. “Where are we?”

“Brendan had seen an object emitting a green light,” she said shivering when he stroked the spot behind her ear.

“Ah, yes. Brendan didn’t know what it was. At first, he thought it might be a glass bottle and he got very excited when he thought that there could be a message inside. Perhaps it contained a cipher text. Or maybe it was a treasure map.”

“He dreamed of finding a treasure,” she said.

“It was one of his dreams,” he replied with a smile and kissed her shoulder again. “He was eager to live an adventure.”

Sansa smiled against the pillow.

“Brendan ran and ran and ran until he reached the place where the strange object was. Do you know what he found?”

“It wasn’t a glass bottle,” she guessed.

“It wasn’t.” He took of the last hairpin and combed her hair with his fingers. “You can turn on your back, sweetling.”

She did and smiled when she met his eyes. Petyr pushed himself up on his elbow and returned her smile.

“What was the object, then?” she asked.

“It wasn’t a big shell. Nor a piece of a stained-glass window. Nor a precious gemstone. It was the last thing he’d imagined, indeed.”

“What?” She gave him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Petyr, tell me!”

He chuckled.

“Don’t be impatient, sweetling.” His eyes shone with amusement. “It will ruin the suspense.”

“Petyr!”

“Alright. Alright. It was an egg.”

“An egg?” 

“Yes.” He leaned forward to kiss her jaw. “Brendan knew it could only be a magical egg, and he wondered what creature would come out.” Petyr sucked the spot behind her earlobe, and Sansa shut her eyes.

“What… what creature?” she asked with difficulty.

Petyr moved closer to her, resting his weight on his left arm.

“Well, he had to wait seven nights before finding out, sweetling. Perhaps you should wait the exact amount of time.” He muttered kissing her throat.

“Petyr!”

He chuckled again.

“It was an enormous seahorse,” he said finally and moved his right hand to her navel. The palm of his hand was so warm. He was so warm, as if there was fire inside him. 

Sansa held her breath. She tried to focus on the story he was telling, but his hand moving up and down her belly made her lose her concentration.

“A seahorse?” she asked panting.

“Yeah. A seahorse from the Emerald Land. The place where every dream comes true. The seahorse told Brendan that he could take him there. He told him that in the Emerald Land he could live as many adventures as he wanted. And Brendan accepted. He could be a treasure hunter, an explorer. He could even become a hero.” His hand slid to her waist, and he kissed the spot above her navel.

Sansa tilted her head back breathing through her mouth.

“I… I had never heard of that place.”

“Oh, there are several folktales about the Emerald Land,” he explained. “Some of them are so long that it would take me several nights to tell you. There are divided into acts, each one with a ridiculously long title. I could tell you one every night. I figure we won’t run out of stories until next Winter.”

“I… I like how it sounds.”

“Perfect.” He nibbled her left side of her abdomen. “I shall tell you in our bed. Our bedroom is in the north west, far from the servants’ quarters. There’s a large window with a view of the forest. We shall have some fruit. A pomegranate, ripe strawberries, sweet blueberries, red grapes.” His hand traveled down her thigh slowly, and Sansa gripped her sheets. The fire inside him was infecting her; it was spreading across her body, and it was almost unbearable. She wanted to beg him to stop teasing her, but her throat was dry. Petyr trailed kisses up her belly and between her breasts, apparently oblivious (or maybe secretly enjoying what he was doing to her). “Perhaps we shall have some pastries too. Would you like that?” 

Sansa breathed out. It was becoming difficult to pay attention to what he was saying. His words were turning into a background sound, just like a low tune in the distance. But his voice… Gods his voice was affecting her as much as his touch.

Petyr rested his right hand on the mattress and leaned forward. His chest brushed against her left breast, and Sansa’s breath halted. Of course, he must be aware of the way he was affecting her. And she bet he was enjoying it.

“Sansa,” he muttered and caressed her lips with his.

“Y… yes?”

“May I kiss your breasts?”

“Yes.” The word spilled out of her mouth even before he even finished asking, and Petyr smiled, and there was a hint of smugness on his face, she could see it. She suppressed a grin and tried to think of a good way to erase it. She wanted to be the one who teased him now. But she couldn’t think of anything because soon, he was kissing and sucking and licking her breasts, and he seemed to know exactly what felt best for her. Sansa bit her lip to remain quiet, her heart hammering in her chest, but when his hand cupped her right breast and began massaging it, she couldn’t be silent anymore. 

“Oh, gods.” She arched her back.

Petyr covered her mouth with his, and his hand slid down her right breast, her ribcage, her waist. Sansa gripped the sheets harder. She had trouble reciprocating the kiss. Petyr’s hand moved to her inner thigh, and she spread her legs unconsciously. She could feel a wetness where she ached most. _I must be staining the sheets_ , this thought entered her mind, making her feel a little mortified. Was this normal? Did every woman get this wet before making love?

Petyr broke the kiss, panting. The corners of his mouth were slightly upwards, but a worried look crossed his face when he saw her expression.

“Sweetling. What’s wrong?” 

She blushed.

“Nothing, Just a stupid thought.”

“Please, tell me.”

“It’s just… I’m staining the sheets. And it had never happened before. Well, only with my moonblood, but this is different.”

Petyr cupped her face and gave her a peck on the lips.

“Trust me. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s a very good sign that you’re wet. Your body is getting ready for me. It will help me slide inside you with ease, so I don’t hurt you. It will make everything much more pleasant.”

Sansa nodded, her cheeks still flushed.

“I can help your body get ready” he said, his hand moving over her inner thigh. 

“Wasn’t that what you’ve been doing since we got in the hot spring?” she asked letting out a breathless laugh.

He smiled, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, but there’s something I haven’t done yet. 

His hand moved a few inches towards her center.

“May I touch you here, Sansa?”

She nodded, holding her breath.

“Say it,” he asked softly.

She swallowed.

“Yes.”

She imagined it would feel good, but she hadn’t imagined it would take her breath away. His thumb massaging her clit in circular motions, his index finger applying some pressure at intervals, his other hand rubbing her inner thigh muscles. At some point, she thought she wouldn’t bear it. The tension inside her body only seemed to grow more and more intense. But then something broke, as if a gigantic wave had crashed over her. The most wonderful sensation she’d experienced ever spread across her body, from her temples to her toes, like the seafoam covering the sand, and Sansa moaned so loudly that she was certain in the nearby houses everybody had heard her.

Petyr settled between her legs still trembling and rested his arms on the mattress.

“Good?” he asked kissing her forehead.

Sansa laughed, trying to recover her breath.

“Oh, yes.” She ran her hand through his temple. His eyes lit up, and he leaned into her touch. “I think I’m ready.”

“Alright.” He tilted his head to kiss the palm of her hand and looked her in the eye. “I’ll go slowly, I promise. We’ll let your pelvic floor muscles adjust gradually.

“Okay.”

“And if your body isn’t ready yet, it’s alright, I won’t try to push hard. We shall try another day. There’s nothing wrong in it.” He smiled and kissed her nose, making her giggle. “I’ve already gotten what I wanted: that you smile and laugh on your wedding night. That you feel comfortable. Safe. Happy.”

“You’ve done more than that, Petyr.” She stroked his face. She felt cherished, special.

“I’m glad,” he whispered kissing her mouth. “Are you ready?”

She nodded against his lips. Petyr positioned himself and began entering her. He stopped when the tip of his cock was inside her and kissed her throat and her cheek.

“Good so far?” he asked.

“Yes.” She breathed out and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He continued entering her. He was going very slow as he promised, and he stopped every time he felt her tense.

“Does it hurt?” he asked the first time she tensed.

“No. There’s some pressure but it’s not painful.”

Later when he was fully inside her, he kissed the most sensitive part of her neck and massaged her clit until she begged him to move. He smiled and began pulling out, and Sansa shivered when she saw his face contort in pleasure. 

“Gods, Sansa. You feel so good.” He pushed in again, trying to keep his eyes open, and this time she moaned.

“More, please.” 

“As my lady wishes.” His voice sounded hoarse. 

He pulled out a little quicker now and pushed in again. A grunt escaped his throat. Sansa’s hands slid down his back pressing him closer to her.

“Please,” she said.

“Sansa.” He pushed a little harder this time.

“Yes,” she tilted her head back, and he took the opportunity to kiss her below the jaw.

Soon she was meeting his thrusts. They moved together until another wave crashed over her and her toes curled.

“Petyr.”

He slowed his thrusts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said with reverence.

Sansa cupped his face and kept her hands there until his body tensed. She felt a hot liquid inside her when a violent shudder ran through his spine. He buried his face in her neck.

“Sansa.”

She hugged him.

“I’m here,” she said.

Later when he pulled out, they cleaned themselves and sat up in bed.

“Are you alright?” he asked combing her hair with his fingers. His face looked so relaxed. She could tell he would fall sleep soon.

“Yes,” she said. “Petyr.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you fancy a lemon cake?”

He laughed.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget about the lemon cakes?” He kissed her head and stood up. He was still naked, and Sansa’s eyes traveled his body. He was so handsome, she thought.

Petyr returned carrying the tray with lemon cakes.

“Tell me, Sansa. What do you think of your wedding night so far?” He sat on the bed.

She grabbed a lemon cake and took a bite. It tasted so sweet. She hummed in delight.

“I wish it wouldn’t end yet,” she confessed.

His eyes darkened with lust. He leaned forward.

“Who has said it’s going to end this soon?”

She was wrong after all. He wasn't going to fall asleep soon, she thought and giggled when his mouth covered hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: Telling someone a story is an act of love is something that storytellers say often.
> 
> I like to imagine that Petyr heard those folktales from his mother :-)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind comments on the previous chapters, and for your kudos, bookmarks and suscripcions. I hope you enjoyed this fic :-)


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